


Bruises

by hereforthehurts



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Appendicitis, Big Brother Sokka (Avatar), Childhood Trauma, Family Fluff, Family Issues, Father-Son Relationship, Febuwhump, Febuwhump 2021, Gen, Hurt Sokka (Avatar), LOOK i'm not saying Hakoda is a bad parent, Modern AU, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Sokka (Avatar), Sickfic, Sokka (Avatar)-centric, Trauma, Whump, Worried Sokka, and they're in normal high school, basically an au where kya dies of cancer instead, he just have .. ... flaws, he's trying to be better, sick Katara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29288505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereforthehurts/pseuds/hereforthehurts
Summary: Katara is sick, and Sokka is falling apart.
Relationships: Hakoda & Sokka (Avatar), Katara & Sokka (Avatar)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 53





	Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> For febuwhump day 8: "i can't lose you too" (substitute prompt!!). Big brother Sokka time babey . Also the tags are important please read the tags!! ty and enjoy <3

The memories first started coming back when Sokka finds his sister laying on the bathroom floor.  
  
  
She was pale, as pale as the white tiles of the cold floor, slumped against the toilet bowl, her sleep shirt plastered to her back with sweat. For a moment, he just stood there in the doorway, gripping the towel in his hand tightly. The image he was seeing in front of him just feels so… familiar, his head trying to dig up hidden memories buried deep inside his brain. It felt like he’s experienced the exact same thing before—standing in the doorway paralyzed, finding someone laying weakly on the bathroom floor.  
  
  
Then the thought hit his head.  
  
  
  
  
Of course he’s been here before.  
  
  
But instead of Katara, it had been his mother.

  
  
  
Fear grips on his chest, a cold unwelcoming feeling that spreads inside him, making him start to panic. _No. It’s not happening. Katara is fine. She’s fine._ “Katara,” he calls, a little bit too loud for her. “Katara, wake up.”  
  
His sister startles awake with a small jolt, her tired, red eyes looking up at him sadly. He kneels beside her and gathers the hair that had strayed from her ponytail to her back, registering how clammy and hot her skin felt. _Shit._  
  
“Sokka,” Katara croaks out. “I don’t feel good.”  
  
“Yeah, I can see that,” he murmurs—there was no sarcasm in his voice, just pure concern, his whole annoying big brother persona gone in a second. “I’m going to get dad, okay?”  
  
“Okay,” Katara nods and swallows thickly, laying her head against her folded arms.  
  
  
  
Sokka hadn’t ran so fast in years.  
  
  
_She’s okay. Katara is okay. Katara is okay._ He goes down the stairs two at a time, finding Hakoda in the kitchen as always, the smell of breakfast greeting him. “Dad,” he breathes. “Dad, something’s wrong with Katara.”  
  
Hakoda doesn’t take his attention away from the stove when he responded, “Katara?”  
  
“Yeah,” he nods. “She’s—she’s sick, I think.”  
  
“Okay. I’ll finish this and—”  
  
“ _Dad—”  
  
_“Sokka,” His father cuts him off gently, frowning when he finally turns around to see him. “Hey, calm down. Breathe, it’s okay.”  
  
Sokka watches him take his apron off so calmly that he couldn’t help but be embarrassed that he’s the only one panicking. “I’ll take a look at her,” Hakoda tells him. “It’s going to be okay.”  
  
“I… okay.” He sighs, rubbing his eyes with his palm. It was only seven in the morning, and he’s already having a potential panic attack. “Okay, I’ll…”  
  
Hakoda gave him a small pat on the back before leaving upstairs.  
  
  
_Katara is okay. It’s just a flu. She’s okay._ He melts into the floor, burying his face into his palms, trying to even out his breaths. Sokka didn’t get why he was so panicked. It wasn’t the first time they had been sick—this whole thing, it was stupid. He didn’t get why he got _so scared._  
  
  
_It’s okay. It’s okay.  
  
_  
  
The rest of the morning was… uneventful, more or less. He had watched Hakoda bring Katara back to bed and check up on her. “It’s probably just a bug,” his father just says, frowning when he reads the thermometer, but didn’t express any further concern. “How long have you felt like this, ‘Tara?”  
  
“I…” Katara shakes her head weakly, “a while, I guess. I didn’t start feeling sick until yesterday.”  
  
“Okay,” Hakoda nods, ruffling his daughter’s hair absently before standing up. “Just get some rest, sweetheart.” Then to Sokka, “Come on, you still need to go to school.”  
  
“Who’s—who’s going to take care of Katara?” Sokka asks. _He couldn’t be planning to leave his sick sister alone at home, could he?_  
  
“I will,” Hakoda blinks at him, as if the answer was obvious. “I’m taking a day off work today.”  
  
“Oh.” He blinks back. “Okay.”  
  
His father offers him a small smile before walking out of the room. Sokka didn’t get what it was all about—what was him with smiling? Why was he always so calm and collected? Not that he’s _complaining,_ but…  
  
“Sokka,” Katara spoke up quietly, “you should go. You’ll be late.”  
  
“I… yeah. I should.” He sighs. “You’ll be alright, right?”  
  
She laughs. “What, are you worried about me?”  
  
“Of course!” Sokka exclaims, a bit too seriously that Katara’s face fell. “You’re my sister.”  
  
“Sokka, I’ll be fine,” She says, reaching for his arm and gripping it with the strength she has left. “Hey. What’s going on?”  
  
“What do you mean ‘what’s going on?’ you’re sick. That’s what’s going on.”  
  
“You know what I mean,” Katara says softly. “You’re… more anxious than usual. Scared.”  
  
“I—” Sokka runs his fingers through his hair, “I just… I guess I’m just really worried.”  
  
“I’ve been sick before,” she raises her eyebrows in disbelief, but didn’t ask any more questions. “I’ll be okay. It’s just a small bug I have to go through.”  
  
“Yeah.” He nods. “Yeah—you’re right. It’s stupid.”  
  
“No, it’s not _._ We’ve talked about this, Sokka. _”_  
  
  
They stared at each other in silence for a while.  
  
  
“I… I’m sorry.” Sokka sighs. _How did everything suddenly get so messy?_ “You’re right—you’re right. I should get going.”  
  
“You should,” Katara agrees, then smirks. “Have fun going to trig today.”  
  
He just scoffs and smiles, leaving out the door. “I hate you.”  
  
“Now _there’s_ the Sokka I know.”  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
For a reason or two, he couldn’t seem to pay attention to whatever it is the teacher was talking about in front of the class. He’s jumpy. Nervous. He doesn’t understand why he couldn’t get his mind off his sister today.  
  
This is stupid. Katara’s just sick. She’ll be okay by tonight and be back at school by tomorrow.  
  
  
  
  
Right?  
  
  
  
  
The cold, unsettling feeling in his stomach was back, telling him that something was wrong once again. He just doesn’t know what it is. This is stupid. This is stupid. Katara is _fine._  
  
The image of his mother wouldn’t leave him, though.  
  
  
  
He remembers being roughly ten, finding his mother on the bathroom floor, weak and fragile, bruises all over her pale body. He remembers standing in the doorway, staring, doing nothing at all but just _staring_ at her.  
  
Because he didn’t know what to do. Because his mother didn’t look like his mother. He kept standing there for what could be seconds or hours or days, until Katara comes to his side and screams when she saw her.  
  
The rest of it was blank, in his head—he couldn’t dig up anything else, as if his brain wanted to keep the memories of his mother’s dying days away from him.  
  
He doesn’t know if he even _wants_ to remember it.  
  
  
  
It was probably an effect of seeing Katara exactly like how his mother was as he remembered her—lying on the bathroom floor, sick and weak. It was probably like a grief anniversary. Sokka had learned about that term when he was twelve. It usually happens around his mother’s death day—he knows, because those days were those days where his father would shut down, when he wouldn’t talk, or do anything, or sometimes even leave his room. He knows, because those days were when they had to deal with the guilt and grief all over again. Maybe it was like that.  
  
  
Yeah. Maybe it was.  
  
It was probably just a coincidence. It was probably nothing.

  
_It’s nothing. It’s nothing._  
  
  
Yet he couldn’t help but look up for information about the cancer that took his mother away. He could see his hands slightly tremble when he types into his phone.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
And Leukemia is, in fact, hereditary.  
  
  


* * *

Sokka hasn’t ran home so fast in _years.  
  
  
_He comes home to his father sitting on the living room table, half buried in his work papers. He doesn’t look anywhere as panicked or scared as Sokka is. Which he should. He should be _running._  
  
Katara could be dying like his mother did years ago as they stared at each other right now.  
  
“Sokka,” Hakoda calls for him when he looks up, frowning worriedly. “Are you okay?”  
  
“ _No,”_ He tells him, his chest hot and full of rage, but he didn’t know why he was so angry. It felt ridiculous. So instead, he asks, “where’s Katara?”  
  
“Don’t wake her,” Hakoda says. “She just fell asleep an hour ago.”  
  
“What—why? What happened?”  
  
“She’s sick,” He tells her. “Kept throwing up, she couldn’t sleep—”  
  
“She’s getting _worse?”_

  
Hakoda sighs softly. “Sokka, she’s okay, she’s just—”  
  
“ _Dad,”_ Sokka grits his teeth. _Why doesn’t he understand? Why doesn’t he understand?_ “Leukemia, dad. It’s hereditary. It’s _hereditary._ And Katara—she’s exactly like mom, she’s—”  
  
“Sokka,” Hakoda gets up from his chair, approaching him slowly. “Sokka, I need you to calm down for me. It’s okay.”  
  
“But the cancer—”  
  
“Both of you don’t have it,” He tells him, with the same patience he always had.  
  
“How do you _know?”_  
  
“I have your blood tested once a year, for both of you,” Hakoda says. “So far, you’re both okay.”  
  
_Oh.  
  
  
  
_He feels the embarrassment and shame building up inside him all over again. _Shit. Okay.  
  
_“Sokka, what’s going on?” he moves closer to him. “Did—did something happen?”  
  
“No,” Sokka rubs his face harshly, “no, I don’t know.” _He doesn’t know why he’s so angry._  
  
“Sokka—”  
  
“Don’t—don’t touch me,” he yanks himself away when Hakoda tries to hold him, “just—I’m going to go. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Sokka,” his father calls for him, his voice a bit sadder now. _Great. He finally broke him._ “Sokka, you can always talk to me, you know.”  
  
_No, I can’t._ “I’m okay, dad. I just…” Sokka sighs. “I’m tired. I think I’m going to go upstairs.”  
  
“Okay.” Hakoda offers him a small smile. “Just—if you ever need anything…”  
  
“Yeah, I know.” _Why is he so nice? Why couldn’t he just be an asshole so that Sokka could finally hate him?_  
  
“I’ll be here, Sokka.”  
  
_I’ll be here._  
  
  
  
But he wasn’t here when Sokka had needed him the most, was he?  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Sokka hadn’t put so much time to thinking about himself in… years.  
  
  
They told him it was a good thing to do, to regulate his feelings and all that jazz. But the more he puts time and effort into it, the more he realized that he was… scared, of those memories. Of his own feelings. He doesn’t want to try to understand them, no matter how confusing they get.  
  
  
One thing was clear about it all, though. That he fears of losing Katara more than anything else in the world.  
  
He was the only thing he had left. He wouldn’t let himself even think about it, but if he was completely honest, he had forgotten about what his mother really looked like. He couldn’t imagine her. And when he does try to…  
  
  
  
Katara was all that he could see.  
  
  
  
When his father left for war, too guilt ridden and heartbroken to stay, Katara was really the one who took charge of everything—even when their grandmother was present. Sokka had played dad. But Katara…  
  
He doesn’t know what he’d be without her.  
  
He’s slipped into Katara’s room to make sure she was okay before he went to bed. She wasn’t okay, of course—sleeping a restless, feverish sleep, stripped down to nothing but one of their father’s thin sleep shirt and a pair of shorts, but she was… alive, at least. No unexplainable bruises as far as he could see, no nosebleeds, nothing that indicates the whole thing was serious.  
  
  
It still doesn’t reassure him, though.  
  
  
Sokka sighs, turning around to face the other side of the bed. The digital clock on his desk reads _11:30._  
Shit. He still has school tomorrow.  
  
  
He tries closing his eyes once again. The sleep doesn’t come easily, but he’s been here before. He knows how to get over it, and there’s nothing a morning coffee can’t fix—temporarily, that is.  
  
Slowly, he starts to dissociate from the world around him, from his surroundings. It’s the welcoming darkness and peace of sleep that pulls him in, that lets him rest.  
  
And he needs it, rest. He desperately needs it.  
  
  
  
  
_“—okka!”  
  
  
_Sokka frowns. He must’ve imagined that.  
  
  
  
_“Sokka!”  
  
  
_He jolts up. _Shit. No._ “Katara?”  
  
There’s crying coming from the next room.  
  
_A nightmare. She’s just having a nightmare again. Nothing new, everything’s okay—_  
  
He kicks his covers away from him and leaped out of bed, bolting out of the door and down their hallway in a flash. He wasn’t surprised when he finds Katara still in bed, facing up, fear drawn all over her face.  
  
  
  
Sleep paralysis. It’s not new, but she hasn’t had that in a while. Maybe the fever was the cause. “ _Hey,”_ he calls softly, kneeling beside the bed and cupping his sister’s cheek with a hand. “Come on, you know what to do, ‘Tara. We’ve done this before, haven’t we?”  
  
Katara swallows, then nods slightly.  
  
“ _Yeah_. It’s okay. Come on,” Sokka mutters, “breathe. You’re okay.”  
  
“It hurts,” Katara says through her hitched breaths, “Sokka, it hurts.”  
  
Alarms went off in his head. “What—what hurts?”  
  
“My stomach,” she sobs. “Sokka, it _hurts—”  
  
_“Shit, shit, okay—just hold on, okay? Dad?” he gets up rapidly, leaving all the calm he has left inside him. _Katara’s in pain. Katara’s in pain._ “ _Dad!”_  
  
“Sokka, don’t leave—”  
  
“I’m not leaving, I’m just getting dad, okay?”  
  
“No, you’re leaving, _I need you_ —”  
  
“I—I don’t know what to do, Katara!” he almost yells it out. Everything was too much, and he’s doing absolutely nothing to help her. “Shit, I don’t know what to do—”  
  
“Hey, hey hey—what’s going on?” the whole room lights up in a swift click, and then Hakoda came into view, walking past him before kneeling beside Katara’s bed. “Katara, hey, what—what hurts, sweetheart? Where does it hurt?”  
  
“My stomach,” Katara writhes, “down, down there—”  
  
“Where?” Hakoda lifts her shirt up. “Here?”  
  
“Don’t— _don’t touch that!”  
  
_Hakoda takes a deep breath. Usually, when he does that, he’s trying not to curse. “Okay.”  
  
“Dad,” Sokka calls, tears streaking his cheeks, “Dad, what’s going on?”  
  
“It’s okay,” he assures, “she’s going to be okay.”  
  
And Sokka was _so tired_ of being told that. He feels like he was going to snap into two—but Katara was in pain, and he needs to put her over anything else in the world. Always. “Okay. Okay. What do we do?”  
  
“Hospital,” Hakoda tells him. He wasn’t expecting that answer, and the fear inside him he’s been trying to ignore _grew._ “Get me the car keys and Katara’s jacket, please?”  
  
“Okay,” he responded again, because that was all that he could say.  
  
  
  
Because that’s what everyone says to him, even if everything was the complete opposite.  
  
  
  
  
  
The rest of the night was a blur.  
  
  
He remembers… the car ride, holding his sister in the backseat as he tries to keep her calm. He remembers holding her while she tries to get out whatever she has left inside her, crying and in pain. He remembers sitting on the bright, hospital hallway, the smell of sanitizer stinging his nose.  
  
He remembers staring at the closed curtains where Katara was in, before they rush her somewhere else, in a bed, and he could only see a glimpse of his sister’s pale, weak body before they take her away.  
  
And when Hakoda finally walks slowly towards his seat, he breaks.  
  
  
  
  
  
Sokka breaks.  
  
  
And it felt… good. To break. He’ll build himself piece by piece later, but it’s okay to break for this moment. At least, Katara wasn’t here to see him do it. At least, he finally doesn’t have to play dad anymore.  
  
At least…  
  
“She’ll be okay,” Hakoda says softly, keeping a respectful distance from him. He reaches a hand to hold him for a moment, but he quickly takes it back. “It’s appendicitis—they’ve caught it late, but it’s okay. She’s going to be okay.”  
  
“Can you—can you stop?” Sokka asks weakly. “Can you stop saying that everything is okay? Because it’s really not. It’s really, _really_ not, dad.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” his father sighs. “I just… I don’t know what to do, here, Sokka.”  
  
_I don’t know either, dad. I really don’t._  
  
“I don’t know what I need to do for you to forgive me.”  
  
Sokka looks at him.  
  
“And I... I really am, sorry. For everything that happened,” Hakoda continues, “for leaving you. For running away when you two needed me. And I am, changing, I am trying to, I just—”  
  
“Dad.”  
  
He stops.  
  
“Can you just… hold me?”  
  
“Hold you?”  
  
“Yeah,” Sokka swallows the rest of his sobs, “please?”  
  
“I… oh. Okay.” Hakoda settles himself beside his son, his sixteen-years-old son, rounding his arms around him. It was awkward, at first, but the longer Sokka was in his arms, the more he felt natural again, doing it. Holding his son. It felt like he’s back when life was perfect, before everything they have crumbled down, only leaving the pieces of a broken father and two siblings who had to grow up too fast.  
  
  
  
Things change. Bruises happen.  
  
  
“Will you talk to me?” Hakoda asks him.  
  
“About what?”  
  
“Anything. Anything at all.”  
  
  
  
And Sokka does.  
  
  
He talks about… everything and nothing. About things at school, how boring and hard everything had been, how his relationship with Suki and Zuko had been going (it hadn’t been exactly a surprise, when Sokka came out to his father—but that was another story). His friends, his plans for the future.  
  
But mostly, he talks about Katara. Everything always goes back to Katara, for him.  
  
“I couldn’t lose her.” Sokka whispers to him, grasping on his shirt like he was a baby all over again. “She’s all I have left. She’s the only one that comes into mind when I think about mom, dad. I couldn’t… I couldn’t remember how mom had looked anymore.”  
  
“I look at your face every time I need a reminder of what your mother looked like,” Hakoda says, only half-joking. “Katara has her spirit, Sokka, but you… you were the exact copy of her.”  
  
Sokka laughs softly. “I don’t know if that makes me feels better or worse.”  
  
“That’s okay,” he tells him. “To be confused. You’ll figure it all out, Sokka.”  
  
“Yeah.” Sokka buries himself deeper into his father’s lap, “I know I will.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
And as Hakoda watches his children holding each other, whispering about things he could only wished he could be a part of, he realizes, maybe life had always been perfect after all. Bruises and scars doesn’t destroy a body forever.  
  
  
  
  
In fact, it only makes them stronger.  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr blog !!](https://hereforthehurts.tumblr.com/)


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